Infamous Wars: Missing Moments
by Abramus5250
Summary: There are many small stories of Cole's time in the Star Wars universe that would be out of place in the main story line. These are some of those tales.
1. The Book

**Infamous Wars: Missing Moments**

**A/N: Just as a heads up, none of these are supposed to be in order. I felt some of these just wouldn't fit in the story itself but could give a broader experience to the reader as a whole. These can range from serious to playful and upbeat to tender. Feel free to comment or submit any ideas for a scenario that you would like to see happen in this series. I may change or combine a few, but be warned that not all can be accepted.**

**Chapter One: The Book**

It was a clear morning in the city of New Marais when Zeke woke up. Rising from his bed, the burly man walked over to the kitchen counter and began making himself a cup of coffee. He had originally hated the stuff, but after the Blast in Empire City and with running water in short supply, the large amount they found eventually made its way into his cup.

"What a day this is going to be," he muttered, checking his calendar. Today was the day of the news conference that coincided with the release of the book "Cole MacGrath: Brother, Friend and Hero". As it was, there were reporters from at least twenty different news stations and journals waiting for him.

"Better get ready," he thought, walking into the bathroom after picking out a set of his nicest clothes. After a quick shower and shave, Zeke found himself about to leave the apartment he had been using as a base since he arrived with Cole. A quick combing-through with a brush made him look a bit more presentable.

"Here goes nothing," he said, turning the door handle. With a blink of his eyes at the sunglass-filtered light, Zeke walked to his waiting car: a dark, fairly non-descript but rather expensive-looking car. Getting in the back seat, he gave his driver the directions to the conference: it was in front of city hall, so it wouldn't be much of a problem.

After a few minutes of driving, the car stopped and a man opened the door for him. "Keep it running," he told the driver. "Just in case somebody doesn't like what I have to say." You could never tell with folks: some hated him for even associating with Cole, regardless of what he had done.

Stepping out of the car, he was greeted by a wave of lights and sounds as the gathered crowd, reporter and average citizen alike, tried to push towards him. Luckily the police lines held them at bay, with the occasional cop nodding his head in recognition: Zeke had gained something of a following as the man who helped steer Cole in the right direction.

Finally reaching the podium, Zeke had the supposed honor of shaking the mayor's hand. In reality he could care less: when the city was falling apart and running rampant with ice freaks, monsters, militia and the Beast, Zeke had been on the front lines more times than he could count. The mayor had never been near the shipping docks when he and Cole nuked the Beast after fighting off a massive amount of enemies. He wasn't there when Cole and Zeke freed the police from the Militia convoy and led them to a break-out of their friends and family at the old plantation.

"Thank you," he said into the microphone, looking out over the large crowd gathered just for him. "It gives me great pleasure to tell you all my book "Cole MacGrath: Brother, Friend and Hero" is on its way to the publishers as we speak. Are there any questions?"

A rather large lady stood up: "Sir, can you give us a preview of some of the things that went on in Empire City during the quarantine?"

Zeke scratched the back of his neck. "For most of the details you'll have to read the book when it comes out, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to give a preview."

He rested his arms on the podium, his hands clenching the sides for support. "Almost immediately after the Blast, things went to hell really quick. Gangs and turf wars sprung up overnight, and resources dwindled to the point where survival was king. One of the things I remember the most was when the police had captured the leader of the Dust Men, Alden Tate. Cole and I were on duty to help keep him prisoner so his army would dissolve. We were wrong: during the night the Dust Men launched a full-out assault on the prison, leaving us with one choice: fight."

He smiled at the memory: "You should have seen Cole. Firing round after round of rockets and grenades, he would not stop. Even after those giant golems showed up he refused to quit, pumping many of them full of bolts. The cops fought alongside us, giving it everything they could."

His smile disappeared and his head tilted. "Then I made a horrible decision, a decision that haunts me to this very day. I was inside, helping keep an eye on Alden to make sure he didn't wake up from the tranquilizers. But I just couldn't stand there and let Cole risk his life outside while I was safe. So I ran outside and joined the fray: soon after that, Alden woke up."

He looked down at the podium as several members of the crowd gasped. "When the smoke cleared and so many Dust Men lay at our feet, Cole and I rushed in to check on the police with Alden. They... they hadn't stood a chance. They were dead, tossed around the room by Alden's telekinesis like leaves. Alden had escaped, and it was all my fault."

"After a while Cole tried to comfort me, saying it hadn't been my fault. But I knew differently: if I had stayed there and let Cole do what he was the best at, those police would still be alive today and the world would be a different place for many people."

Zeke swallowed the grief threatening to consume him. "But enough about me: are there any other questions?"

There was silent for what felt like the longest time as the crowd digested the news he had visited upon them. Then a small man stood up, his glasses askew on his face.

"How do we know Cole made the best choice? That is, was he right in activating the RFI?" Several boos called out from the crowd, causing the man to hastily sit down.

Zeke looked down at the man with a mixture of pity and disgust. "He sacrificed himself for the good of humanity. Whereas thousands died because of the RFI, tens or even hundreds of millions of people all across the country and indeed the world are alive because he made the ultimate sacrifice. If you had been here and seen the chaos and destruction, and had the power to do what was right, would you make the same choice he did?"

For the next hour and a half Zeke answered many more questions, ranging from Cole's personality to his habits and what it was like to have been a best friend of the 'Electric Man'. After that followed an hour-long session where Zeke signed advanced copies of the book, with fans from all over the country showing just to meet him: it was rather flattering.

When that was all said and done, Zeke left the crowd and carried with him a single copy of his book to the waiting car.

"Back to the house, please," he told the driver. As the black car headed down the street, Zeke took off his sunglasses and looked down at the book. On the cover was a photo of him and Cole, taken years ago by Trish on a camping trip. The camera had been set on a delay, so Trish was in the picture too, smiling away and looking as beautiful as ever. Cole was in the middle, his arms thrown over the shoulders of his friends as he grinned like there was no tomorrow. Zeke's own image was on his right, the messy hair rising above his awesome sunglasses.

Zeke could still remember that day: the mosquitoes were everywhere, raccoons had eaten his marshmallows the night before and the next few days it had rained. But by God did they have fun, and if he could he would wish for that day again, if just to be free from this world for a moment.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and he looked at Cole's smiling visage. "I miss you, brother," he said as the tear drop fell and landed on the glossy cover. "You really were the best friend I ever could have asked for."

**A/N2: Well, it was about time I gave Zeke a little writer love and a little back-story on what happened on Earth after Cole left. He was only in the first chapter of Infamous Wars, so why not give him some more screen time?**

**A/N3: This story will be uploaded weekly unless I fall behind schedule: college can be pretty demanding.**


	2. Theed Palace

**Chapter Two: Theed Palace**

Cole had noticed the supplies were running low out at the lake house, so with the permission of Padme and Anakin he was given a large sum of credits and a list detailing what to buy. After flying in a streamlined speeder that Cole knew he had to have some day, the city of Theed soon appeared in the distance, its gleaming domes cutting though mists like beacons of light.

"This is a rather nice city," Cole thought as he wandered the streets looking for the marketplace. All around him humans and a few assorted aliens passed by, including an occasional Gungan. The map he had was not particularly helpful, but after asking enough people for directions he found the market. All around him various people sold their respective wares: clothes, meats from shaaks and fresh fish, and what seemed to be dairy products from bovid creatures. Cole had to say he was rather impressed: in a technologically advanced galaxy, an open marketplace like this was reminiscent of places he knew back on Earth, although back there things tended to be a bit dirtier.

He walked up to a rather small vendor with a variety of foods. "I'll take three shaak steaks, a dozen nuna eggs and a bag of these fruits," he said, holding up what seemed to be pears and oranges. With a smile and a nod the colorfully-dressed man gave him his things; the self-cooling bags were an excellent method of carrying food without it spoiling right away.

Wandering past several more vendors, Cole came to a small automated delivery service: a droid stod with a credit deposit slot and a set of instructions for use. "I would like to see more of this city," Cole thought as he walked up to the droid. "I'm sure Anakin is perfectly capable of handling the situation while I'm gone." Activating the droid, he gave it the location of the speeder that would take it to the correct destination.

As the droid walked off, Cole noticed a pair of robed figures peering out from behind a pillar: handmaidens. As he watched, they seemed to notice he saw them and bustled off into a crowd of identical-looking people.

"Huh," Cole thought as he wandered through an arched doorway. "I wonder what that was all about." Making his way past several clusters of what he could only describe as bankers, Cole found himself in a large and beautiful art museum of sorts. Several paintings seemed to be landscapes of distant planets, but a few seemed to be portraits. One in particular caught Cole's eye: a bearded man with long hair, covered in a brown cloak and holding up a green lightsaber.

Glancing away from the picture's serious expression, Cole noticed a gaggle of handmaidens slowly making their way towards him. "Not again," Cole said as hurriedly walked around a corner. Almost as soon as he did he saw another group converging on his position: another sweep showed him the last corridor was blocked off by an even larger group.

Cole slowly backed into a corner as all three groups formed a large assembly headed right towards him. "Can I help you ladies?" he asked weakly, thinking he would have to jump out the window to escape.

"I don't know; can you?" the one in front asked, causing a ripple of laughter to go through the group.

"What do you want?" he asked, edging closer and closer to the window. Unless they attacked him, he couldn't possibly fight back: a retreat was his only other option.

"We just want to talk," one said, though her eyes said something else. "You've been working too hard," said another as she reached for his sleeve. "Perhaps you should take some time off."

"We could help you relax," another one said as Cole batted away the other handmaiden's hand. "I'm sure we _all_ could help you."

Cole felt the blood rush to his face: so t_hat's_ what they wanted. "Sorry ladies," he said as he finally reached the windowsill. "I'm afraid I can't enjoy that kind of company while I'm on duty." With a backflip, and to the surprise of the handmaidens, Cole found himself crouching on the windowsill.

"I must go," he said, leaping out of the window to the cries of dismay from the handmaidens. Soaring through the air, Cole gently flew down to the ground below and looked back up at the window. With a smile and a salute to the ladies above, he made his way back to a small stand outside of the city.

Anakin looked up as Cole walked back into the lake house. "Have an interesting trip?" he asked as they unpacked the goods Cole brought back.

"You could say that," Cole said with a smile. "Naboo is a rather interesting place."

Meanwhile, on the day Cole and the others left for Tatooine...

Aname and her fellow handmaidens were moping when a delivery came in the mail. It had been three days since Cole had eluded their grasp once again and each felt crushed by the disappointment. During one of their all-too-infrequent breaks, they gathered around the large package.

"What do you think it is?" one of her fellow handmaidens asked. Aname shrugged her shoulders: they wouldn't know unless they opened it. Unwrapping the package, they were shocked to find a large and expensive-looking bouquet of flowers.

"Who's it from?" one of the shocked women asked. Aname searched through the petals until she found a hand-written note.

"Handmaidens, I am sorry for my abrupt departure, but I just can't be in any sort of relationship right now. I enjoyed visiting Naboo and the city of Theed, and I will likely swing by at some point in the future. I would love to tour the sights with some who know their way around the city."

The note was signed: "Sincerely, Cole MacGrath".


	3. Sand Everywhere

**Chapter Three: Sand Everywhere**

Of all the ideas Cole had thought of, this had to be one of the strangest if not the most uncomfortable. He had just saved Anakin's mother from the Sand People by shrouding himself in sand and scaring them off like some wraith. The only problem was the static electricity built up in his skin to the point where sand was clinging to every part of him. Even worse than that, he was stuck under the parked ship with an unceasingly annoying protocol droid called C-3PO.

"I hate this planet," Cole said, taking off one of his shoes and pouring the sand out. "I can't wait to get out of here."

"Sir, might I assist you in some way?" the droid asked, watching as Cole took off his other shoe and poured out more sand.

"Unless you can find a way to dissipate excess electricity, you're out of luck," Cole said. "Just what do you do, anyway?"

"I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, including Basic, binary, Bocce-," he said before Cole cut him off.

"So you can basically translate languages; is that it?"

"No, sir: I also am programmed with millions of etiquette protocols in the case of visitors," the droid said.

Cole instantly knew something he had been pondering: the sand was now the second-most annoying thing on the planet. "Do you ever shut up?" he said, brushing sand off the back of his neck.

"I am afraid I have never heard this expression before," the droid said, something similar to puzzlement entering its voice filter.

Cole felt his anger rising: it wouldn't do well for his reputation if he fried the droid into oblivion. "Look in your archives for the language English," he said. Hopefully that would shut the droid up for some time.

After a few all-too-brief quiet minutes of cleaning out the sand, Cole heard the droid respond. "It appears that language is not in my databanks, sir. Might I try for another one?"

Cole was rapidly losing his patience. "Try for Spanish," he said, standing up and walking away.

"If I do not find that, sir?" the droid said.

A thought struck Cole, one that would surely get this droid off his back for a while. "Then try for French, Gaelic, Cantonese, Korean, Japanese, Latin, Urdu, German, Russian, Bantu, Swahili, Na'avi, Klingon and anything detailing Africa. Come back to me when you are done." With that, he walked off, rubbing some sand out of his scalp.

"Let's see him try to find any of that," Cole thought with a smirk.

**A/N: Yes, it is ridiculous, but Threepio needed some screen time. What better time than to mess with him?**


	4. Rock Climbing

**Chapter Four: Rock Climbing**

**A/N: Just a little peek inside the workings of the Jedi Temple**

The rock wall in the Jedi Temple was one of the foremost training pieces in the instruction of teamwork and coordination of trainees and apprentices. Every Jedi, whether youngling, apprentice, knight or Master, had to climb it at some point, though many never climbed it again.

That day, three young apprentices were arguing over who should go first. Each was trying to dare another to go first, but each time they were met with rebuttal and derision.

"Why don't we go at the same time?" one suggested. The other two shrugged in agreement and started climbing. At about the half-way mark, the youngest one, a female Mon Calamari by the name of Dakka, slipped from her handhold and was left hanging by one hand. The other two were too far up to reach her in time and she had yet to learn how to cushion one's fall with the Force.

"Help!" she called out, feeling her fingers slipping. Suddenly a blur to her right made her gasp: it was the man who fell out of the sky. Just as her other hand slipped, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, slowly pulling her onto his back.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded, whimpering into his back as she curled her arms around his torso. "Do you want me to take you back down?" he asked, holding onto the wall as if her weight meant nothing.

"No," she said after a few seconds. "I want to be at the top with my friends, but I don't think I can climb the rest of the way."

"Then I'll carry you," Cole said gently before scrambling up the side of the wall like a spider. The Mon Calamari couldn't help but be amazed at his movements: so fluid and precise, but with a strength that belied greater power under the surface. Within seconds he had passed Dakka's clearly-shocked friends and pulled them both over the top.

Gently dropping off him, the young Mon Calamari looked into Cole's eyes as he sat down, swinging his legs over the ledge. "How can you move like that when you have no connection to the Force?" she asked, sitting down next to him.

He smirked and looked down at her friends. "Just as much practice makes a Jedi excel at a task, so the same goes for me: I have been doing this for a while now. It almost comes naturally."

After a few seconds of silence her friends pulled themselves over the ledge, out of breathe and clearly tired. "I'll be seeing you around, I bet," Cole said, standing up. With a short hop he leapt off the ledge and soared through the air until he lightly touched the ground below.

"That was Cole MacGrath?" one of the apprentices asked. The Mon Calamari smiled, her eyes conveying pride.

"Yes," she said, helping them up. "Yes it was."


	5. Training

**Chapter Five: Training**

The clones looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. Here, a normal-looking human had been made their general and was able to generate electricity like a storm. The clone captain spoke up first: "What would you have us do first, general?"

Cole thought for a second: he knew all about leading an assault and defending a base, but he still needed to learn the lingo for calling in the dropships, ordering an artillery strike and anticipating an enemy's movements, along with many other things. "Let's start out with your orders," he said, anticipating that it wouldn't take very long to memorize them.

That is how the first day ended: Cole felt drained just from memorizing the entire list of orders for the clones to follow, and follow them they would, even if they went against what the clones were doing. He was most surprised by the executive orders, which could only be instituted by a higher-level official or the chancellor himself.

The next day they moved onto hand-to-hand combat and target practice, and a few of the clones had to admit they were rather impressed. The very first clone that went up against Cole had been knocked flat on his ass within seconds, and the same went for the next dozen or so. After a while, nobody felt Cole couldn't handle himself in a fight and they gladly moved onto target practice. Here, it was Cole's turn to be impressed: they were all excellent marksmen, barely ever missing a target and then only a moving one, which was a difficult shot for anyone to make.

After the beginning of the third day, Cole began familiarizing himself with the workings of every piece of equipment the clones had in their arsenal. Admittedly, he found several qualities of a few machines to be a little lackluster at best. He hated the totally exposed viewpoint of the AT-TE's gunner and pilot, along with the lack of defensive turrets around the legs. His other two gripes were the gunship and the artillery pieces: neither had anti-personnel turrets and both were highly vulnerable to attack from either behind or above. The Kaminoans had taken notice of his complaints and were already consorting with Rothana Heavy Engineering to rectify a few of the design flaws.

Day four was a more personal experience, with Cole learning the ins and outs of the clone's military chatter and the way they talked. They had all been of the same template, a certain bounty hunter called Jango Fett that was currently imprisoned in the Jedi Temple, meaning the only real way to distinguish them was by their decorated armor, weapons or the way they cut their hair. A few, such as the captain, had military-style tattoos where others would grow facial hair. In turn, Cole told his soldiers everything about him they asked, for he knew there could be no secrets from each other if they were going to truly work together.

The fifth day was a bit of an impromptu exercise in stealth and working in squads. The building had constantly shifting pillars that would reveal an "enemy" one second, and have them disappear with a few moments. Cole found his squads worked excellently against each other, but when it came to fighting him, he knew every move they would make. For the longest time, they could not find him, no matter how many there were or how spread out they became. Then, after things became dark, he came out of nowhere, pinning them down from what seemed everywhere at once. When the lights came back on and the session ended, a few clones were scared witless when Cole simply popped up behind them. From then on the clones had a greater respect for the man, as he had eluded them for so long it became almost a game to him.

The sixth day was the final day before they would ship out, and maneuvers outside were going as planned until lightning struck one of the gunships. Its engines failed and it began to descend towards the oceans below when Cole, to the shock of the attending clones, jumped off of the platform and flew up to the ship. Flying under it, he somehow flew back while carrying it, much to the relief of the training crew inside. From then on, there was a loyalty to Cole within the ranks that was almost unheard of within the entire Republic, especially so early in the war. Then, on the seventh day, Cole and the 21st Legion shipped out on their first mission for the Republic military.


	6. Discussions

**Chapter Six: Discussions**

**A/N: Yes, this is rather OOC, or out of character, but it is fun to write.**

The meditation hall was quiet when Jedi Knight Aayla Secura entered. She was immediately greeted by the sight of Jedi Master Shaak Ti and Luminara Unduli talking.

"I got your message," she said, sitting down on one of the chairs. "Are we expecting anyone else?"

Luminara nodded. "I commed my apprentice Barriss and several other knights: they should be here shortly."

Soon after that, the door opened and the women in question filed into the room. After everyone had settled down, Shaak Ti went straight to business, her serenity and formality disappearing behind a girlish grin.

"So, ladies," she began. "What do you think of our guest?" Murmurs spread throughout the room as many looked to each other in confusion. Most others had knowing smiles on their faces: they knew exactly what was going on.

"Do you mean Cole MacGrath?" Luminara asked, a puzzled look on her face.

"Of course, silly," Aayla Secura said, nodding at Shaak Ti. "What do you think of him?"

Luminara shrugged a little. "I don't know what to think of him, to be honest," she said. "I mean, he just fell out of the sky and now already is on Master Yoda's good side? Frankly I am a bit, well, suspicious as to his intentions."

"Pish posh," Shaak Ti said. "You only say that because you don't want everyone to know how you keep staring at him whenever he's in the room."

"I do not!" Luminara said, though the blush on her cheeks said otherwise. "Besides, we all know the apprentices cannot keep their eyes off him either. They have yet to master the... urges that we have," she said, pointedly looking at her apprentice Barriss. The young woman blushed furiously at the memory of her master finding what she had written in her diary.

"Still, I suppose we should keep an eye on him," Aayla said, knowing full well many of the women present would not mind that at all. "He does seem to have excellent self-control, though I wonder why he needs to."

"Perhaps he is under the will of someone," a knight called out. "He could be a pawn."

"No, that's not it," Shaak Ti said. "I sense he has been hurt in the past but he is of his own free will. No, he seems to me somewhat distant, as if he is still grieving for someone."

Before anyone else could finish, the man in question opened the door walked in a few steps: the room instantly fell silent with all eyes falling on his face, though a few lingered over his body for a considerable amount of time.

"Excuse me, masters, but Yoda has called a council meeting: you are needed straight away." He looked around, noticing everyone there was a woman. "What exactly were you talking about?"

"Nothing of importance," Luminara answered a bit too quickly. "Inform Master Yoda we will be there shortly."

Walking out of the room, Cole shut the door with a puzzled look on his face but shrugged off the confusion and went on his way. "It's probably better that I don't know," he muttered to himself. "I'm just glad it doesn't have anything to do with me."

Unknown to Cole, the group had exited the room and several pairs of eyes watched him walk away, including one certain apprentice. Emotions swirled in her head as she remained rooted to the spot.

"This is going in my other diary," she thought, finally hurrying off to her room. "I'll just make sure Master doesn't find it this time."


	7. Purpose

**Chapter Seven: Purpose**

**A/N: Ten internet points to whomever knows what I'm talking about. I do not own what I am talking about, sadly.**

Two B-2 model super battle droids were standing at their post, bored as usual. Nothing ever happened in the depot they were stationed in, but as everyone knew droids were programmed to obey orders, not think. As the rules of the galaxy stated, no droid could be allowed to achieve sentience, or else it might undermine the rule of sentient beings and lead to a droid uprising the likes of which had never been seen. Therefore, with their limited programming and neural inhibitors, droids of all kinds were labeled as subservient and rather unexciting.

These two proved to be an exception to the general rule: well, they were rather stupid.

"Hey," one said, a red marking signifying him as a designated S.I.M.M.O.N.S. - a Standard Issue Multi-Munitions Ordering Non-civilian Silicoid. His frame was a bit taller than a normal B2, as he carried a grenade launcher in an arm.

"Yeah?" the other replied, the orange paint on his chassis designating him as a G.R.I.F. – a General Resistance and Infantry Fighter. He was a bit larger than the normal model, allegedly for extra ammo capacity. Truth was, all the other droids called his series 'fat' and half the time he was loaded with less than the standard amount of ammo.

"You ever wonder why we're here?" the red one said, who shall now be referred to as Simmons. He was the more thoughtful of the two, though as far as droids went, he was exceptionally obedient.

The other one, who shall be now referred to as Grif, looked at his comrade. "Have you been watching that show on the Holonet again? I told you its Republic propaganda: you could be deactivated for watching it." Grif was the laziest excuse for a droid on the whole planet, if that was even possible: he routinely took long oil baths, almost never showed up on time, and half of his orders were misinterpreted or forgotten. A vising Separatist general had almost died when an over-turned can of oil left by Grif had been set alight and then exploded.

"Just answer the question," Simmons replied, a note of irritation edging into his voice processor. If droids were equipped with a larynx and other throat features, it would have sounded like a growl.

"I don't know," Grif replied, looking down his sights. "Who am I to question orders? We were stationed on Ord Janon to protect the supplies. Here we are, as always, patrolling a sector of the perimeter while the rest of the droid army fights the Republic on all fronts. I didn't sign up for this: I signed up to fight the Republic scum, not watch supplies!"

"You didn't sign up for anything, you metal head!" Simmons replied, looking at the other droid. "We were _created_ by the Confederacy to fight wars: there was no signing up!"

"Well, when the elections come around, I'm gonna vote for someone who would put us on the front lines," Grif replied. "Shooting the Republic clones would be so much more fun than standing guard at a place of almost no importance." He received a quick smack upside the back of his neck-less head.

"Elections? Droids can't even vote you moron!" Simmons said, pointing at him with his blaster-infused arm like it was a finger. "Since when can the Separatist Council be elected, anyway? I thought they were the founding members and could only be removed if they turned traitor."

"Whatever," Grif replied, his droid voice sounding bored, even though droids were supposed to be incapable of such actions. The droid looked up to see a distant figure jumping over the wall. "I wonder who that is?" he asked, pointing.

"Probably nobody: you're seeing things again," said Simmons, who looked in the other direction. "Sometimes I swear you're the most idiotic droid I've served with. Turn away for two seconds and I find you setting blaster cartridges on fire to see what happens."

"Hey, that was fun and you can't deny it," Grif replied. Suddenly the base's power went offline and blaster fire rang out all across the depot. The two droids looked around in confusion as explosions lit up everywhere. From the trees and shrubs, clone troopers poured into the breached base from all sides.

The two droids looked dumbly at each other for a second. "Grif?" Simmons said as a thermal detonator stuck to his chest right underneath his chest.

"Yeah?" Grif replied as a blaster bolt struck his shoulder joint, rendering his built-in blaster arm useless: not like he had been using it anyway.

"I hate my job," Simmons said. Within a second the detonator exploded, disintegrating the droid duo. Two clones sifted through their debris.

"Look captain! I found a donut!" one said, picking up a piece of metal.

"No Caboose, that's a gear," said the captain with an annoyed voice. "Seriously, I swear you're the dumbest clone in the legion."

"I like you too, captain," the clone said, completely oblivious to the insult. He stepped on a droid's arm, causing the blaster to go off and hit the captain in the foot.

"DAMMIT CABOOSE!"


	8. Flight

**Chapter Eight: Flight**

Gavin Starseer was having serious misgivings on his current assignment. He had become a mercenary to care for his wife and two kids, but when the Separatists came calling for a job, he had instantly questioned just why immediately after joining, albeit reluctantly. So here he was, patrolling a large deposit of credits on the planet Anchoron, surrounded by other mercenaries. But where Gavin sought to care for himself and his family, the others were in it for credits or personal satisfaction: many of them were rather cutthroat and vile beings.

"I still don't get why they need me here," he muttered, turning a corner in the dark room holding the consoles. "This job could easily have been handled by droids or a local security team: why us mercs?" It wasn't like there was much interest in the planet anyway: the Republic was already focused mainly on Muunlilist and Bonadan, some of the larger backers of capital for the Separatist war machine.

A soft thump from around the next corner made him pause: his instincts told him someone was there that shouldn't be. Creeping slowly around the corner, his visor flashed onto night-vision. The dark objects suddenly became as clear as day, and Gavin felt his adrenaline spike: there was a small group of what could only be clone commandos creeping through the hallway. Soon enough, and too soon for his liking, more clones appeared behind the others far down the hall, signifying this was no minor raid: this was a full-scale operation.

"This means the Republic's here," he thought, quickly ducking behind a console. "This is not good: if I die, I'll never get paid and my family will never see me again." Oh why did he ever sign on with those Separatists anyway? He had never had a problem with the Republic: hell, he liked the Republic!

As the clones silently crept through the room, an idea came to his mind: it was a crazy one, but there was no other sane alternative. Trying to fight his way out would only get him killed, and surrendering without a bargaining chip would only mean execution or prison time, neither of which were appealing. If it went right, the clones would get what they wanted; he would get his money and perhaps a bit on the side. Best thing of all, he would live to see his family.

"I surrender," he said, stepping up from behind his cover. He heard the clicks of the rifles as the clones turned to him, their weapons raised to fire.

"I'll cut you a deal," he said as two stripped him of his weapons with great efficiency. "Transfer twenty million of the credits in the deposit to my private account, and I'll tell you everything you need to know."

"Why should we believe you?" said one in front, his helmet obscuring his face. Clones were not taught how to bargain, only how to fight. Gavin could feel not only their confusion, but misgivings: how were they to know what he was saying wasn't a trap of some sort?

"I want to see my family again: I have no intention of dying for the Separatist cause," Gavin replied, appealing to their well-known sense of brother-hood. Clones stuck together through thick and thin, and maybe showing Gavin felt the same would help them trust him.

The clones remained silent for a few moments, and then one stood up. "Tell us the combination to the console, and we have a deal." Success: all he needed to do now was make sure they wouldn't shoot him if he made any sudden moves.

"My account is number 1337, and the console's is 1138," Gavin said. "There are 420 million credits in the account being used to fund guerillas and overturn local governments on several Inner Rim planets. I want 20 million so my family can be set if I die." He also gave them a small data chip showing the locations of the tanks his soon-to-be former employers had given him and the other mercenaries: no sense in _not_ betraying the cutthroats.

"Deal," said the standing trooper, reaching out and shaking his hand. As Gavin sat down while the clones got to work, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps his plan hadn't been so crazy after all. Still, he was careful not to do anything suspicious: two of the clones were standing guard over him, clearly waiting for an order to end him if the need arose.

Within an hour, Gavin was leaving the planet behind in his personal Z-95 Headhunter. No more jobs like these: perhaps he would retire, giving an excuse to spend more time with his family. After the clones extracted had the money, they had retreated amidst an assault by a suddenly-alerted mercenary group, with Gavin disappearing amidst them to make it look like they had simply caused him to vanish. Luckily that General MacGrath of theirs had saved the day, or else Gavin might have some explaining to do as to why they slipped past his watch. If anyone asked him, he could simply say he had been knocked out by the clones and stuffed somewhere out of sight while everything was going on. Nobody could go against the evidence: he had been assigned the crucial area, so none of the other mercs could find out the deal he made, even if they had survived.

Back on Corellia, he could just imagine his wife's surprise when he arrived and told her of their luck. Of course, they would now have to be cautious as to who knew about their sudden fortune. Perhaps now he could invest in a few of those little farming companies around the planet: it couldn't hurt to diversify his credits. Now he could definitely care for his family and secure for them a brighter future.


	9. Accusations

**Chapter Nine: Accusations**

It had been months since the war had started turning in favor of the Republic, and yet back on the home front, it seemed as though the populace still couldn't believe how stressful things had become. Revolts, rebellions and civil wars had sprung up all across both Republic and Separatists space almost the minute troops left or arrived. Thankfully, most of the Republic's problems were taken care of in short order. As things were, it had been awfully quiet along the front for a month, and some of the Republic's heroes were taking a well-deserved break. His shuttle carrying away a few other Jedi, Anakin Skywalker turned to face the crowd of reporters gathered around his podium. The Council had elected to have him give a progress report on how the war was going from the point of view from a general who actually fought on the front lines, something the public seemed to identify with more than an armchair general.

"General Skywalker! What is your opinion on the creation of new armaments for the troops?"

Anakin grinned a bit at this: he had personally seen Cole's weapons in action and had to admit they were much more powerful than the old blasters had been. "Let me put it this way," he said, leaning on the podium. "They get the job done better, faster, and at a cheaper expense than the old equipment. I expect the entire army will outfit with these weapons before the war ends." Given the recent developments in the Outer Rim, that prediction could be a few as two months or as long as two years. Either way the fight was far from over, and the need for more troops was an utmost priority to the Republic.

"What about the whereabouts of the Separatist leaders General Grievous and Count Dooku?" another reporter asked, causing a frenzy of related questions. "Reports are coming in from everywhere that they have not been seen or heard from in a very long while. Have the defected? Are they dead?"

Anakin's smile became a neutral line on his mouth: questions like this always irked him. You never knew who could be listening, and the Jedi definitely didn't want anything slipping out about their own holding of the prisoners. There was no telling who might try and break them out and/or kill them. "I am afraid that is classified, but please note they have not been a factor in the war for some time. Anything else?"

"What do you think about Cole forming his own order, this 'Order of the Conduits', as he puts it?" a Bith reporter asked, his large cranium blocking the view of a few others. "Can we be sure of their legitimacy and are they a danger to us?" There had been rumors and gossip about the power of these individuals and the order to which they belonged. Several groups claimed it was merely a front for the Jedi to seize control of the Republic, or even that Cole himself was conspiring to take over.

Anakin frowned at the Bith: that question was more out of line than he could tolerate. "Let me tell you something: if Cole MacGrath can motivate these Conduits even half as well as he can the army, this war will be over within a matter of months. The only danger is them being persecuted, for they will defend themselves, as would anyone, including the Jedi."

"But you are not denying the fact that he is inspiring loyalty to himself amongst the troops and these members of his order? How are we to know of his true intentions?" The Bith seemed rather stupid: he couldn't even realize he was just digging himself a deeper hole.

Anakin was downright disgusted by this reporter by now. "Let me tell you something, _Bith_: MacGrath is out there on the front lines at every possible opportunity, out in the mud and the debris with his men while you sit in your safe little office far from the enemy and think of ways to discredit his achievements. He's out trying to save the Republic from total collapse, while you do nothing but try to bring him down with petty words and baseless accusations."

There were several cheers from the ranks of the reporters as the Bith flushed with embarrassment and indignation. He refused to say another word after that.

Anakin looked around at the sea of reporters, knowing full well this could get back to anyone who detested him: no matter. "Cole has personally done more to help this Republic with this war than anyone I know, including myself and the Jedi. For every clone he's lost, he's personally killed hundreds of the enemy: for every ship, almost entire fleets. He's helped save countless lives, liberated planets, repelled invasions and destroyed enemy fleets of all kinds with few if any losses. If there was to be a problem with these Conduits, do you think he couldn't handle a few of his own kind?" The Bith seemed even more cowed by the Jedi's response, for he seemed to shrink down in further embarrassment.

"Alright" Anakin said, turning back to the hushed crowd: that was quite the speech. "Any other questions?"


	10. Mail

**Chapter Ten: Mail**

Cole didn't know why he had let that reporter do a small story on him, but ever since he had given her his number, his inbox had been submerged under a deluge of fan mail, marriage proposals, business opportunities and death threats from every corner of the galaxy. It was likely she had given out his number, but for the moment he couldn't track her down.

"No, I don't want to wire funds to a desperate Theelin prince," he thought, deleting and blocking the number. "I know that scam: it was around back on Earth, so why should this place be any different?"

He scrolled down the list. "Ah, another Twi'lek asking me to be hers," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. "That makes number four hundred thousand or so, I believe? Never mind the millions of humans, and thousands of other alien species calling out for me. I especially don't want to marry the guys: I don't swing that way."

He continued scrolling down, deleting messages for a revolutionary new kind of protocol droid, deals on ship repairs and even challenges for a duel. Cole knew whoever had done it was either foolish or had done it to impress someone: likely both. Either way, he knew his opponent would lose, since it was kind of hard to beat an extremely powerful human light socket with a knack for surviving impossible missions. "Death threat, death threat, marriage proposal, death threat," he muttered, rattling off the title of each message. He was becoming increasingly frustrated until he just began deleting on sight.

Cole further scrolled down the list, with the number of spam mail becoming increasingly long until Cole wanted to shout. "Cash4Cortosis, Bank of Muunilist, Kessel's Jewelers, Bantha King, McDuros... Why are there so many advertisements for services?! I've never even heard of half these places!" Cole shouted at his datapad, thinking it would be better to just erase the whole thing without looking at the rest of it.

Scrolling down to the bottom of the list, his eyes stopped at one particular title. His expression became inscrutable as he opened the message and read the offer. The room became so quiet you could have heard a fly's wingbeat.

Outside the barrack's headquarters, Shadow was flying by in a newly refurbished gunship when something flew through the air out an open window. With a great metal clang it stuck into the gunship, the force actually driving it into the durasteel shell. Looking outside as the gunship made an emergency landing, Shadow was able to discern a few words on the cracked and rapidly-fading screen of a familiar-looking datapad.

"Penis...Enlargement," he said, feeling he knew whose datapad this was.


	11. Merchandise

**Chapter Eleven: Merchandise**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I was on a trip this weekend and I didn't have time to upload this. So, without further ado, here is the next chapter!**

It was five months after the end of the Clone Wars. Peace had been easy to achieve, but harder to keep. There was always grumbling on the surface of Coruscant over the amount of taxes being spent on other planets that could easily be used back on Coruscant. Of course they would complain _after_ the war had been won: they had been only too happy to sacrifice some luxuries when the fate of the Republic had been hanging in the balance.

However numerous the grumblings, many agreed on one thing: economic growth across the galaxy was at an all-time high, surpassing the last three spikes combined. This meant the Mall of Coruscant, one of the largest in the entire galaxy, was open all day, every day. It was mostly automated when it came to re-shelving items and shipping, but the tens of thousands of jobs it provided for beings across the planet made it an important economic center. Some days it raked in more money than entire start systems and paid out more than many planets produced in a year.

It was a very special day that was unfolding there that day. One hundred lucky clone captains from across several chapters were chosen to man the stations surrounding the newest outlet: toys of the war. Most felt they were extremely unlucky, since they would much rather be in drills or out putting down an insurrection on a backwater planet than having to answer the questions of thousands upon thousands of the Coruscant's children. The good news was that they were getting paid handsomely for their services: many clones had started exploring the galaxy's culture around them and a few were already enjoying it more fully than others, meaning they had needs for funds.

It was on one of their admittedly few breaks that Shadow, one of the last picked captains, actually managed to get a walk around the outlet and take a look at the merchandise he was representing. His armor was a bit itchy from standing in one place for so long, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the old armor had been.

"Hmm," he said, walking past massive shelves of merchandise. "Toy AATs, AT-TEs, speeder bikes, gunships from both sides," Shadow said to himself. Of course they would have to make toys from both sides, but is still was a bit unsettling to see the weapons of war that had been used against him were made into toys for little children. Shaking his helmeted head, he stopped at a row of action figures.

"Heroes of the Republic?" he read, looking down the rows: they seemed to stretch on to the wall. "Well, at least there's no 'Heroes of the Confederacy' section," Shadow thought, noticing how the only real Separatist shown was the Grievous action figure, though seeing as he had been absolved of his crimes, he was no longer technically an enemy. Looking down the row, he mulled over some of the names in his head.

"Plo Koon... Anakin Skywalker... Obi-Wan Kenobi... Sure seem to be quite a few Jedi," he mused. Then he got to another section.

"Captain Rex, Commander Cody, Captain Shadow- wait, what?" he said, picking one up. He was an action figure? They had it all: his hair style, his preferred weapons, his favorite armor and a holocard showing all the battles he participated in. It was all there, and the sheer amount of the information was a bit humbling to say the least. Who in the Nine Hells of Corellia had thought he'd make a good action figure? Unless he was simply part of a set and the manufacturers thought he'd be a good side-piece to a larger package deal of action figures.

"That is truly something I never thought I'd see," he mused, putting it back down. "I wonder where General-," he stopped suddenly, his eyes glued to the next piece of merchandise. It was more expensive than the others and a little larger, but the contents had Shadow rooted to the spot.

"By the Force, I can't believe it..." he mumbled, picking it up. The sheer amount of impossibility of hat was existing before him was causing his mind to rattle a bit. "There is no way... he _must_ know" Shadow rushed back to the register where another clone captain was stationed.

"Trooper, do we have a holorecording device?" The clone captain handed Shadow one such piece of machinery, which Shadow immediately turned on the figurine. After a few seconds of video, he clicked it off and transferred the file to his personal datapad.

"Aaaand send," he said to himself, putting the figure back on the shelf and sending the file to another datapad. For the rest of his day he worked his shifts diligently, watching as children of all species adored the toys and bought them like crazy. Every now and then he'd have to step in to break up a fight over boys who'd try and get the figure all the others wanted when the shelves were almost empty. Thankfully the hero-status of the clone captains overruled any thoughts of ignoring their commands, so nothing got too out of hand for the soldiers. At the end of his shift late that night, Shadow checked his datapad. There was a message on it: one from his general.

"Very funny, Shadow," the message said. "I hope the children like those toys, seeing as some of those royalties are coming back to me. The same goes for every other figure: the Jedi are making a lot of money off of this, and trust me, they need it. I wonder what will happen if I show your action figure to the rest of the 21st Legion?"

Shadow felt his skin pale slightly behind his visor: he'd never live down the ridicule. However, there was more of the message.

"Just kidding, captain. Just be sure not to let too many know right away, alright? It would be better for them to know gradually: fame can do crazy things to people."

Shadow let out a sigh of relief: thank the Force his general had not only a sense of humor, but a sense of comradeship with his troops. He'd be careful from now on, though: if he was seen anywhere outside of the mall by fans, they might go crazy.


	12. What is in a Name?

**Chapter Twelve: What is in a Name?**

**A/N: I am sorry to say this, but this story shall be put on hold for a while. Exams are drawing closer and I frankly haven't had the time to work on this as much as I wanted. I hope you all understand.**

The room was quiet, saving for the breathing of the man seated outside. The man, a hero, general and savior rolled into one was more worried now than he had been since, well, ever. No other day had him this worried that he could remember: there were likely countless times he had been, but today was eclipsing them from his mind.

Cole MacGrath was that man, and the building he was in was a hospital of Alderaan. He was not here for himself, or for any of his troops, or for anyone he knew from the Jedi Order. He was here for one person: well, two persons to be exact. In the other room lay his wife Lucy Kuo, heavy with their child. She had gone into labor what felt like weeks ago, but what in reality was earlier that morning. It was the mid-afternoon when Cole was finally let inside the room, but by that time he felt as if his heart would give out.

There she lay, her eyes closed and her skin surprisingly warm for one whose Conduit powers were associated with ice. He gently felt her forehead and watched as her eyes fluttered open.

"Hello Cole," she said, raising a hand to his face. "Are you all right?"

"Forget about me," he said, grasping his hand in hers. "Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

"They're just about to finish cleaning him up," Kuo said, pulling Cole's hand close to her beating heart.

"Wait... him?" Cole asked, his brain seeming to short out for a second. "Him? As in... he? As in a boy?"

"Yes, my love," she said, smiling at his expression: he looked so goofy when he was confused. "A boy, Cole MacGrath: you and I have a son."

Cole stood there for a second, unsure of what to do. Everything was rushing through his head faster than a ship entering lightspeed. A boy? He was a father to a boy? He felt his knees go weak: he had a son!

A human woman entered the room, followed closely by a droid. "Here he is," she said, handing Cole a bundle. Cole, too overjoyed to hear her words, gently accepted the bundle. He looked inside and saw the most beautiful thing he had ever seen: his son. He had his face, his nose, everything: but then the baby opened his eyes. They were his mother's eyes, a beautiful blue hue.

Cole stood there in silence for a few minutes, unable to do anything but look at his beautiful son. After a while, he handed the baby to Kuo, who began to gently rock him. The human woman and the nanny droid had left the room, leaving it to the family inside.

"What will be his name?" Cole asked, sitting down next to the bed. He had always wanted a son, but picking a name was never easy. There had to be one out there just right for him: he deserved no less.

"Well, we did discuss this before," Kuo said, smiling down at the baby. "You get the first name, I get the middle names: at least for this one, anyway." There was the unspoken vision of more children, but for the time being all focus was on this new baby. She rubbed his nose with hers, causing a squeal of laughter to emanate from the baby: a tiny fist shot out and grabbed onto Kuo's nose.

Kuo laughed and tried to pull away, but the grip was stronger than she thought. She just held her head there as the baby held onto her nose, giggling for a bit at the feeling. After little bit, the tiny hand let go and retreated back into the bundle, where the baby closed his bright blue eyes and went to sleep.

"He's strong for his size," Cole said with a slight chuckle. Then he remembered something a good friend of his had said, a long time ago, back when things were different and he had no idea where his life would end up. The words of his friend hung in his heart: he would never see the man again, but at least he could keep his memory alive with this act of honor.

"Zeke," he said, gently rubbing the baby's head. "His name will be Zeke."

"A beautiful name for such a beautiful baby," Kuo said, already deciding on the middle name. She too had someone in mind, someone who had been there for her when she needed it most during her undercover work. Kuo and Cole gently kissed, and then she looked back down on her son.

"Welcome to the world, Zeke Sebastian MacGrath."


End file.
